Chapter 14
The Devil Unclipped
Jacob
Ilean over him slow, like a shadow stretching at dusk.
He’s gasping, fingers twitching near his throat, eyes wide with disbelief and pain. That punch didn’t just land—it spoke. Said everything I’ve been holding back since the second I saw him looking at her like she was something he had the right to want.
I consider stubbing my cigarette on his face but don’t. I flick it off to one side as I crouch beside him with my knee pressing hard into his chest. I’m close enough for him to feel my breath on his face. Close enough to remind him I could end him right here in the dirt if I wanted.
“You feel that?” I murmur. “That’s the air trying to crawl its way back into your lungs. Next time, it won’t get the chance.”
His mouth opens, trying to talk. To fight. But all that comes out is a ragged wheeze.
I smile. Real slow. Real cruel.
“You think this was about you and her?” I ask, tilting my head like I’m genuinely curious.
“You think this is some pissing contest over who gets the girl? She’s always been mine.
” I shake my head. “No. This is about knowing your place. And you?” I drag my gaze down his body—sprawled, broken, humiliated. “You don’t have one here anymore.”
Behind me, I hear movement. Summer’s breath catches. Good. I’m glad she got to watch. Let her see what happens when men come sniffing around her.
The kid’s still choking when I shift my weight, calm as Sunday service. I can feel the rattle in his lungs under me, like there’s gravel inside him.
I draw my gun slowly. Let him hear the scrape of metal clearing the holster. Let them all hear it.
Summers’ voice cuts through the air. “Jacob—no!” She sounds wrecked. Pleading. But she doesn’t move. She won’t. Not when I’ve got him under me like this.
I level the barrel at his head. Dead center. His wide eyes blink against the glare of the moon overhead, but the fucker still tries to glare up at me, coughing blood into his own teeth. He wants to look brave. All I see is a boy who doesn’t understand what he’s picked a fight with.
“You think I need fists to end you?” I rasp, finger resting easy on the trigger. “One squeeze, and I’ll paint this lot with your brains.”
Silence falls. A restaurant full of eyes behind glass.
Her friends frozen—white as chalk, shaking, wanting to run but knowing better.
But Summer—she’s still staring. Her breaths running faster, her lips parted.
I catch the way her thighs press together, the way her breath hitches.
She hates this side of me. Loves this side of me. Both in equal measure.
And that’s what makes me grin.
I thumb the hammer back, clean and slow, just to watch Benny’s face drain. Then I tilt my head, like I’m weighing something that ain’t worth weighing.
“I should fucking kill you,” I whisper. “But I’m feeling generous tonight.”
I press my hand to his chest, right above the heart. Firm. Pinning. Reminding him that even without this gun, he’s nothing under me. Then I look back at her. Only her. Because this isn’t about him. Never was. It’s about showing her what I am. And what’s hers.
She’s hungry and I’m the only meal she wants.
Me.
The fucking devil she’s learning to crave.
I head back toward Summer, but Adelaide comes running to me like a stray that doesn’t know where home is, eyes wide, voice soft with pretend civility. She’s shaking, but she tries anyway.
“Jacob, please… just—be kind to her. Summer, she’s going through enough right now, don’t you think?”
Kind. That word feels foul after the rage that’s flooding my body.
I stop walking. Let the silence choke her. Let her feel the pressure shift in the air, like the ground itself is warning her to shut her mouth. Then I turn. Slowly, purposely.
I nod my head, not able to manage a single word to the slut who dared barge into our dinner with that fucker and her other lousy friend.
Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She gets it.
She’s staring at me like she just realized the wolf never pretended to be a man.
Tonight wasn’t about peace. It wasn’t about keeping up appearances.
It was about marking territory. Reminding Summer of what I am.
I wanted to try to be a gentleman, to have a moment of real life with her.
But then those cunts walked in and turned it into a fucking circus.
Trying to call me out on my actions. Hell, he even went so far as to call me a coward.
A protector? Indeed. A monster? Definitely. But a monster who keeps her alive.
And now she’s seen it. What I can do with one half-hearted punch. How quick I can put a man twice my size in the dirt without breaking a sweat. How easy it would be to destroy anyone stupid enough to reach for her.
She wants safe? Then she better remember what safe looks like when I stop playing sheriff.
Because the badge means nothing. Never did.
And now—now maybe she’ll stop dreaming about soft fucking hands and guitar boys who wouldn’t survive five minutes in my world.
Because all it takes is one second of seeing me unleashed—unclipped—for her to remember exactly who took her. And why she’ll never leave.
I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her back inside like nothing happened.
Like I didn’t just leave Benny gasping in the dirt. Like she didn’t tremble through every second of it, caught between the ones who think they can save her and the man who already fucking owns her.
She’s quiet now, I imagine she’s holding the adrenaline in, letting it calm in her core before she opens her mouth again.
I’m not mad at her. She didn’t bring them here.
She didn’t run to him. Didn’t throw herself on top of him to protect him from me.
Instead, she stood still and stayed loyal.
She didn’t even try to pull me off him when he was breathless in the dirt. And that? That earns her something.
We slide back into the booth. I flag the waitress without looking and order two slices of chocolate drizzled cheesecake and two espressos.
Summer watches me from under those lashes like she’s waiting for the storm. But all I do is lean back, arm stretched across the top of the seat, and smile.
“Relax,” I murmur, voice low and velvet wrapped. “I’m not letting a good night go to waste.”
She blinks. Swallows hard. “After all that…?”
I nod, slow. Letting her feel it. The shift.
“Yeah,” I say. “After all that.
My hand drops to her thigh under the table, but this time I offer her gentleness. Warm, possessive gentleness.
“Because you didn’t throw yourself down in front of him. Didn’t cry. You stood there—right where I left you.”
My thumb strokes over her leg, lazily making my way higher up her thigh until I feel her clenching them together. “And that makes me think….” I pause, smile stretching. “Maybe you’ve finally learned where you belong.”
She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t need to. Her body is telling me everything I need to know.
“So now I’m thinking,” I murmur, leaning closer, voice a promise wrapped in gravel, “tonight, when we get home, I’m going to ruin you.”
A beat.
“But not as the sheriff who’s sworn to protect you.” My voice drops to a growl, lips brushing her ear. “As the man who’s waited long enough.”
She’s squirming in her seat. One fucking sentence—that’s all it took.
“Ruin you.”
And now she can’t sit still. Can’t meet my eyes without her breath hitching. Her thighs are pressed together so tight I can practically hear the tension humming off her skin.
Good.
She stood by me. Sat beside me. Let me touch her, claim her, mark her in ways no one else ever fucking will.
She’s earning it.
And tonight, she’ll finally find out what happens when I stop holding back.
The waitress drops dessert in front of us. I thank her with a nod, not breaking eye contact with Summer. She licks her lips, then realizes what she’s doing and stops.
But it’s too late, I saw you baby.
I dip my finger into the whipped cream, drag it through slow. I lift it to her mouth.
“Open,” I murmur.
Her eyes dart to the table beside us. The old couple pretending not to stare. The kid in the corner booth with his mom. I can see her cheeks flush.
Good.
“I said open.”
She obeys. Lips part. Pink tongue just barely peeking out. I slide my finger between them. She closes around it, swirling her tongue around my digit slowly.
Holy fuck.
My cock jumps so hard I almost laugh.
Her lips tighten. Her cheeks hollow. She’s not just playing along—she’s fucking starving for it. For me. And she doesn’t even realize the noise she’s making until I slide my finger back out and lick the rest of the cream off, slow and filthy.
I lean in, just enough for her to feel my breath.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’ll bend you over this booth and show the whole goddamn town just how soft I’m not.”
She shivers. Perfect. A voice behind me cuts the moment short.
“Well damn, Sheriff. Didn’t know you had a sweet side.”
I turn, slow. It’s Hank Garber. Owns the auto yard off Old Mill Road. Loudmouth. Wears the same sweat-stained cap every day of the year. He’s grinning like this is some kind of joke. I look up just enough to meet his eye.
“Sweet side?” I echo. “That what you think this is?”
His grin falters.
I hook my thumb toward Summer.
“She knows what I taste like when I’m sweet. But she knows what I taste like when I’m not. You wanna ask her which one keeps her up at night?”
He stammers something, then turns red and shuffles back to his table without another word.
I train my eyes back to her. She’s flushed with embarrassment and arousal.
Good.
That’s how I want her. On edge. Always a little too aware of me. Of what I’m capable of—both with my hands and without them.
I pick up my fork and slide it through the slice like nothing happened.
“Eat,” I say softly.
And she does. We finish dessert, but I don’t taste a thing. Not really.
Not when she’s across from me with her cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Not when the ghost of her mouth lingers on my fucking finger, sweet and sinful, like she’s marked me with whipped cream and fire.
My cock’s been hard since the first taste.
And it hasn’t gone down once. She doesn’t know what she’s done—not really—but every move she makes, every breath she takes, every fucking glance she throws my way tightens the leash I’ve kept on myself all night.
By the time we leave the diner, I’m past pretending.
We step out into the thick evening air. The sky’s black but the night is humid; the heat clinging to everything. But I’m colder than I’ve ever been.
I unlock the truck. She turns to climb in, her long legs hiking up to the perfect angle. I could stand between them, pull her panties to one side and slam myself inside her.
I clench my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack under the pressure.
I grab her by the waist, turn her to me and lift her like she weighs nothing—because to me, she does.
She gasps, but it turns into something softer when I slam her against the door, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other gripping her jaw.
Then I kiss her. Not a kiss—a fucking war. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. I own her mouth like it’s mine. Like I’m pouring every twisted part of me into her—every fight, every breath I’ve held back, every second I’ve spent trying to be something close to decent.
I’ve been fooling myself. There’s nothing decent about the way I want her.
I kiss her until she melts. Until her body goes limp with need and her hips grind into my thigh, like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Until her breath catches in a sound that makes my vision blur.
And when I pull back, her lips are swollen, eyes half-lidded, breath hot and fast. I press my forehead to hers.
My voice comes out low. Raw. “I need you.”
A beat. A breath. Then the truth.
“Fuck… I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.”
It slips out like it’s always been there, waiting to be admitted—waiting for the moment I stopped pretending this wasn’t deeper than control or lust.
I love her. And I’ll ruin anything that tries to take her from me.
Even her.